


No More Running, No More Lying

by Newtdew25



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild (implied) Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtdew25/pseuds/Newtdew25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Race accidentally stumbles across Jack's rooftop sketches, he ends up uncovering something much more artistic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No More Running, No More Lying

**Author's Note:**

> Even though the tag is Racetrack Higgins, the musical only refers to him as Race. Therefore, that's the name he goes by here.

             Despite waking up before most of the others every morning, Race usually ended up being the last to leave the lodging house. It’s not like it took him long to get ready, since he didn’t have any clothes other than the ones he wore every day. He just enjoyed even a little bit of peace and quiet before going out into the rough, noisy streets of Manhattan. The thing was, Jack would have been hounding him for not lining up yet, and he was nowhere to be seen.

        _“Maybe he’s already out there and just hasn’t noticed I’m missing yet,”_ Race thought as he pushed the lodging house door open. The square was already filled with newsies; many of the ones that helped with the strike, and even some new ones he didn’t quite recognize. But even as he looked at the all the faces, he still couldn’t find the leader of Manhattan’s newsies.

      “Henry, have you seen Jack?” he asked after pulling the boy away from the noise of the others. He shook his head before replying, “I think he’s still up on the roof.”

          Race pursed his lips as he held his cigar between his fingers. Although Jack had pretty much claimed the rooftop as his own private space, he knew that Crutchie was allowed to go up there from time to time. Therefore, it wouldn’t hurt if he went up just once.

          Right?

          “Alright, thanks,” Race said as Henry waved goodbye and went to go join the other newsies, all of whom had already lined up to get their papes. But Race snuck back into the lodging house and began the long climb up the stairs. Aside from the occasional creaky floorboard, the entire building was silent.

          He held his breath as he climbed out the window and onto the fire escape. Even though the ladder to the roof was old and shaky, Race figured that he would at least _try_ to be quiet in case Jack was doing something important. Then again, what exactly _can_ you do on a rooftop?

          _“Well, a lot of things,”_ he thought with a grimace. _“But Jack wouldn’t do any of that, I’m sure of it.”_

          Strangely enough, the rooftop was empty. As Race climbed off of the last rung, he looked at the several pieces of charcoal on the ground. _“What would he need these for? Is he sending smoke signals up here or something?”_ he asked himself, smirking around his cigar. Race began picking up the charcoal, feeling just how worn down the pieces were. Something stirred in his mind, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep finally catching up to him.

          He walked over to a small pile of charcoal on the ground in the corner. As he put down the pieces he had gathered, he noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the vent pipe. Race gently pulled at it until it came free. After he smoothened the paper out a bit, he turned it over, trying not to rub his charcoal darkened fingers on it. “Wait a minute...” Race whispered as he held his cigar in his free fingers. In his hands was a drawing of Medda and the Bowery Beauties, posing in their theatre as if they were in the middle of a show.

          It was then that Race realized what the charcoal was for. “How could I forget,” he chuckled. “Jack’s drawings!” According to Crutchie, Jack would wake up as the sun began to rise just so he could continue one sketch or another. Sometimes, the poor guy would fall back asleep on the rooftop until the circulation bells rung or Crutchie came up there and woke him. Talk about dedication.

          “Race, what’re you doing’?”

         The boy yelped and stumbled back into the vent pipe at the sound of Jack’s voice, knocking several other drawings lose. As he was groaning in pain, Race could see Jack running past him, grabbing papers that were being blown away by the wind.

          “That really smarted,” he muttered as he began picking up the sketches that had fallen on the ground. There was one of Specs carrying Romeo on his shoulders. Underneath that was a portrait of the Jacobs kids; Davey, Les, and Sarah. To his right, Race picked up a drawing of Pulitzer and Katherine, smiling politely. _“That must’ve taken a lot of guts,”_ he thought with a grin as he filed it under the others in his hand.

          “Listen, Jack, I‘m really sorry about coming up here and messing with your stuff,” Race sighed as he picked the last drawing up from the ground. “Henry said that you’d be up here, and then I found the charcoal, but you scared me, and...”

          Jack only chuckled and patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, alright? I mean, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he said with a shrug. Race nodded and handed him back the sketches from the ground. “I knew you were an artist, but I never thought you were this good. They all look so... lifelike!” he blurted out excitedly. It wasn’t often that Race acted like the sixteen year old he was, but when he did, he tended to jump around excitedly and not be as ashamed of his voice cracks.

          Unfortunately, Race’s jumping caused him to bump into Jack, leading to one of the sketches to fall out of his hands. The boy pulled himself together long enough to kneel down and get it, only to stop and stare at it. On the ground was a portrait of a single newsie sitting on a stack of papes, gazing out wistfully with a hint of a smile on his face. It was obvious that Jack had spent a lot of time on this drawing, since it was much more detailed than any of the others. Race probably would have been thinking about the sketch for hours if Jack hadn’t tried to grab it himself.

          “Woah, woah!” the boy cried as he picked it up and held it to his chest. “What’s the matter with this one?” Jack’s cheeks slowly grew red as he bit his lip. “It... It’s not done yet!” he stammered as he attempted to pry the drawing free of Race’s hands.

          “Huh, looks done to me.”

          “Don’t look at... just hand it over!”

          “Say, this sort of looks like Elmer! Well, not the hair... It actually reminds me of Albert, but he’s a bit...”

          “It’s you!”

          Race looked at Jack, not quite sure of what he just heard. He took another look at the sketch and noticed an integral part he had somehow missed; the newsie was holding onto a small, yet distinct cigar. “I decided to make a sketch of you, alright?” Jack whispered, fear creeping into his normally confident voice. “It’s not what you think it is...” The two stood there in silence for some time before Race finally asked, “But what if it is?”

          It was Jack’s turn to question what he heard. As he raised his eyebrow in confusion, Race set down both the drawing and his cigar before coming closer. “Don’t act like it’s a secret,” he began. “‘Cause word travels fast ‘round here, and Davey’s still a terrible liar.” Jack could only stand there, stunned with embarrassment. “Oh, and we can all see how Crutchie acts when you’re talking to him,” Race continued, smirking as Jack’s cheeks ran red. “So, yes; it is what I think it is.”

          As Race reached out to put his hand on Jack’s shoulder, the latter flinched and made his way towards the ladder. “Jack, just wait!” Race pleaded as he stepped in front of him.

          “Why should I, huh? I mean, if word really does go ‘round here that fast, what will the other boys think of me?”

          The younger newsie snickered a bit, much to Jack’s frustration. “It’s not funny, damnit! People are thrown in prison for... for being like me,” he managed to whisper. This was a side of Jack that Race had never truly seen; a Jack who couldn’t always be strong, who behind the cockiness and bravado was just as scared of the world as he was.

          “Jack, don’t you think we would’ve said something if we weren’t alright with it?” Race calmly asked, watching for Jack’s reactions. “I mean, there _was_ a reason you and Katherine decided to stay friends, right?” When he only got a slight nod in response, Race continued. “So who cares if you love Davey or Crutchie? You’re still the same old Jack!”

          While Race was still grinning, Jack grabbed him by his vest and pulled him in for a quick kiss. The former, obviously not expecting it, stared at Jack afterwards. He then rolled up his cap and hit the elder newsie over the head with it. “I expected better from you, Jacky-boy,” he smugly whispered as he dropped the cap and moved in for another kiss.

          In the heat of the moment, their teeth clacked a few times, and Race hoped he didn’t bite his own lip by mistake. He felt Jack’s hands move to grip his hair, and he only tightened his grip on the other’s vest. It was unrefined, rough, and very much passionate; just the way a newsie was supposed to be.

          After what felt like an hour or two, Race finally stepped back, panting and sweating. He and Jack shared a similarly feral grin as they tucked their shirts back in. Race even allowed Jack to try out his cigar, even if he ended up hating the bitterness of the tobacco. The two boys eventually went to buy their papes from one confused Wiesel and two suspicious Delancey brothers, chatting without a care in the world.

          Before the two newsies went off to their own selling spots, Race winked at Jack, who only blushed in return. As he walked past the many people who had already gotten their papes, Race thought about what he said about Davey and Crutchie. _“Maybe I’ll talk to one of them later... Or why not both?”_ he decided in his head as a mischievous grin took over his face.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this fic while I was working on "Ya Got Trouble," simply because I always thought that Jack and Race had great chemistry (at least Ben Cook and Dan Deluca did when I saw Newsies on tour). 
> 
> Crutchie and Jack are more like brothers than lovers, but they could work together too.
> 
> David would likely be in the closet as well, given the time period.
> 
> And Katherine? I always liked the idea of her being with Sarah Jacobs or Hannah.


End file.
